by Ann Massey
Langkup couldn’t believe his good fortune when Entri had offered him his white-skinned granddaughter as an incentive to buy his boat. All the locals on both sides of the border had heard about her. Everyone knew she’d been fathered by an orang puti. Langkup had seen her often on the deck of her grandfather’s boat. He would never have guessed she was half Dayak. It’d be like screwing a white woman, or as near as. Improbably, the impotent old man felt himself harden, never dreaming he’d ever get the chance to realise his fantasy. And then when he’d boasted to friend and foe about his prize she’d ridiculed him in front of the whole village. Soon all the tribes along the shore would learn of his humiliation at the hands of this bastard half-caste girl.
Well, she was going to pay. She was going to pay dearly, he promised himself. He’d sell her to a brothel belonging to a relative, but it was a long way to Miri and Langkup was in no hurry. She wouldn’t be able to stand up when he was through with her. His gnarled hands trembled in anticipation as his arthritic fingers pulled impatiently at her knotted sarong. Then his hungry hand clutched her immature breast, twisting and squeezing the rosebud nipple painfully.
She whimpered, too scared to push him away, and he released her, but only to undo his heavy belt and the drawstring of his hemp trousers. Then he rolled on top of her, wriggling and squirming, breathing heavily through his mouth and emitting an unpleasant stench redolent of stale wine, tobacco and dried sweat. He shifted, buried his face in her breasts, grasped his penis and frenziedly rubbed the limp, flaccid flesh while his other hand explored roughly: fingers poking; horny, ragged nails drawing blood; groaning and panting feverishly, trying to force life into his inert penis. Frustrated, he lashed out, punching her viciously, before staggering to the back of the boat where he occupied himself securing the canoe to the longboat, head down, fingers fumbling unaccountably with the routine knots.
Shamed, Me Li closed her eyes and tried not to think of the horror of her first sexual encounter. But it was hard not to as she compared Langkup frantically thrashing about on top of her with her girlish, romantic dreams. Her friends knew she was still a virgin and they’d teased her, boasting in low whispers so their elders couldn’t hear while they wove baskets or threaded beads, about the joy a woman finds with a man: how good it was to feel skin on skin, the tingle when you embrace, the urge when he kisses you passionately, to have him deep inside you thrusting wildly, out of control …
What if he tried again? She stood up, determined to make a run for it, but Langkup seemed to read her mind.
‘A four-metre croc was spotted round here just a few weeks ago. I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t have a nest in those reeds. A man-eater too! I should leave you to him, that’s all you’re good for. I would too, but I’ve got other plans for you, my girl.’
Mei Li sat back down. Langkup had taken her canoe. She knew she’d have no chance alone and unarmed in the jungle. The motor puttered into life and she waited for him to turn the fastboat around. Instead they motored on in hostile silence toward Miri.
Chapter 16
THE FIERCE, TATTOOED TRIBESMAN wearing the traditional rattan headdress decorated with black and white hornbill feathers, bark cloth vest and beaded necklace woven out of human hair, and the tall, slender, barefoot girl in the simple batik sarong stood out like sore thumbs, despite the eclectic mix of Western and ethnic dress worn by the Malay, Chinese, Dayak and ex-pat population that lived in Miri.
Mei Li walked behind Langkup along the noisy, crowded pavements amid a steady stream of pedestrians who stared openly at the primitive Dayaks from the backcountry. In return, Mei Li stared in amazement at the Malay men and their sons dressed for Friday prayer in long white satin jackets and trousers, cloths wrapped around their waists that reached down to their knees and black oval hats perched atop their heads. Their wives were dressed like exotic parrots in brightly patterned, colourful skirts that reached past their ankles, long-sleeved tops and bright headscarves.
She stopped to stare enviously at teenage girls, employed by the council as cleaners, in their smart, sky-blue tunics and black trousers dreamily sweeping the pavement with their flimsy straw brooms. But Langkup didn’t allow her time to marvel at the wonders around her. He hurried her past the open-air markets where the tribal communities sold their wild fruits, vegetables, rattan mats and hand-woven baskets. A friendly vendor shouted out a greeting but Langkup hissed at Mei Li to ignore him. He figured it was too risky allowing her to come into close contact with her own people, and he set off across the busy intersection toward the bus terminal, looking back over his shoulder to make sure she was following.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the bus that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Petrified, he stood stock-still and he would surely have been hit if Mei Li hadn’t let out a shriek, run forward and shoved him aside. The bus driver swerved, slammed on his brakes and collided with a parked motorcycle belonging to one of the stallholders. Passersby hurried to help the dazed old man to his feet. Cursing, the bus driver climbed out of the cab and was soon involved in an angry altercation with the owner of the motorcycle. Both of them started yelling at the bewildered old Dayak and no one noticed as his companion crept away.
Mei Li didn’t stop running for several blocks. Finally she slowed down. In front of her was the most magnificent building she had ever seen. Huge turquoise and lilac dragons were mounted on the emerald-green shingle roof of a Chinese temple while an elaborate gilt dragon was intricately coiled around a red pillar near the entrance. An old Chinese man with a yellow leathery face was watering an ornamental tree. He had a kindly expression and so, after watching him for a while as he tended the plants and swept the courtyard, she worked up the courage to ask him if he knew where the drycleaners was located.
Most of the population of Miri was multi-lingual and Mr Yeh, the elderly custodian, had no trouble understanding her. ‘You’re not from Miri, are you? This is a big place and there are many drycleaners in town.’
‘Oh no,’ she said, close to tears.
‘Are you alone?’ he asked, wondering why a girl from one of the rural tribal communities was on her own in the city.
‘Yes,’ she said, her heart beating with fear in case the old head-hunter should catch up with her before she found her mother.
The old man looked at the agitated girl, taking in her dishevelled state and the fearful way she kept looking over her shoulder. She was obviously in trouble. He poured water from a jug and handed her a glass, which she drank thirstily.
‘I was going to have a meal. You will join me and then we shall visit all the drycleaning premises until we find your uncle,’ he said with a reassuring smile. ‘Come inside,’ he said, and he led her into the temple.
Mei Li had never been in a car before and she didn’t know how to open the door. Mr Yeh, seeing her difficulty, helped her with it and then showed her how to fasten her seat belt. Once she was settled he pulled out and drove slowly along the crowded streets, watching the girl surreptitiously, pleased that she seemed to have calmed down and was looking about her in awed amazement. Mei Li stared out the window, watching the passersby hurrying along the tree-lined footpaths, unable to understand how they could be so unimpressed by the wonders around them.
Watching her astonishment at the strange spectacles brought back memories for Mr Yeh of how excited he felt as a small boy when his desperately poor parents had first come to Miri from the Chinese Mainland. What an experience it must be to come out of the jungle and find yourself in a modern cosmopolitan city.
‘This is Brooke Street, one of the oldest parts of town,’ he said, pulling into a parking space outside the drycleaners. ‘You wait here while I make enquiries.’
Mei Li waited in eager anticipation. Her heart was pounding with excitement. She wished Mr Yeh would hurry. For the first time since Langkup had got hold of her she allowed herself to dream, imagining starting a new life in this magnificent city with her mother. I’ll make her love me, she though
t determinedly.
He returned quickly. ‘You’re very lucky. This is the right place,’ he said, opening the door for her with a smile of encouragement. He watched her enter the shop and drove off reluctantly, saying a silent prayer for her safety. He hoped the innocent girl from the jungle longhouse wouldn’t fall victim to the lures of the city.
Dedan was waiting for her just inside the door.
‘Oh, Uncle,’ cried Mei Li and ran into his arms. Ever since Langkup had attempted to rape her she had held back her tears, but now safe in her uncle’s embrace she cried tears of shame.
‘Come, come, girl,’ said Dedan in embarrassment, conscious of the shop girls’ curious looks. He guided her to the cafe next door and bought her an iced tea.
It was the first time Mei Li had ever tasted ice and she sucked the frozen cubes, rolling them around her mouth, intrigued by the pleasantly cold sensation.
Dedan eyed her warily, pleased that she’d stopped crying. He wondered what she was doing here. Straightaway he had noticed she was wearing the collar of the matriarch and that didn’t bode well. Never had he seen his aunt without the necklace. Something dreadful must have happened at the longhouse. He could hardly contain himself, waiting for Mei Li to tell her story.
‘He did what?’
She described again how Langkup had tried to rape her, too embarrassed to look Dedan in the face. He clenched his teeth and muttered a threat under his breath, promising himself that the Indonesian would pay with his head for this insult to the family. Headhunting might be outlawed in theory but practice was something else!
‘Don’t cry. It’s not your fault. You can come home with me now. Tomorrow I’ll talk to my boss. I’ll ask him to find for a job for you.’
‘Thank you, Uncle, but first I want to see my mother. That’s why I’ve come all this way.’
A perplexed look crossed Dedan’s face. Of course, he thought, she doesn’t know the truth about her origins. He thought back, recalling the night when Rubiah had been thrown out of the house with the unwanted baby; when, instead of abandoning it, she had unexpectedly begged him to take her home to her parents. Neither Entri nor Lada had believed their daughter’s story and had cared for the baby as if she were their own granddaughter.
Every year at harvest Dedan returned to the longhouse. Over the years he had watched Mei Li grow up and gradually he had forgotten the true story of her birth and treated her as if she were part of the family. But now she would have to be told the truth about her mother. He wondered where to begin. To hell with it. Rubiah could tell Mei Li herself.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘it’s getting dark. Rubiah has a business a few doors down. She’s usually there at this time.’ Counting the day’s takings no doubt, he thought enviously.
It was closing time and the last client had left twenty minutes ago. Rubiah was expecting her partner and lover, Joseph Ling, to visit her later in the evening and she’d ordered her chief stylist, Linda, to stay back to tint and blowdry her hair. At thirty-five her hair was still thick and luxurious, but it was greying around the temples and she couldn’t afford to have Joe think she was losing her youthful beauty. She relaxed while Linda massaged her neck and shoulders and thought about the way her life had turned out.
After Roger dumped her she had partied hard. Dedan knew where there was action and had been more than willing to take his pretty cousin with him. Having the exquisite, doll-like beauty in the tight-fitting red cheongsam on his arm added to his status and he had been admitted for the first time into 888, the exclusive club for high rollers. He had heard rumours that an illegal casino operated in a back room of the White Rajah Hotel but he had never expected to be allowed inside. After a quick look round, he had known there was no way he could get into a game. The patrons were all seriously wealthy and the stakes were way too high for him.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he’d said to Rubiah.’ Dennis is getting a game up at his place. It’s too rich for us here.’
‘You go,’ she said, and accepted another flute of champagne that the club served gratis to its rich patrons. ‘Joe said he’d take me home and he’s staking me, too.’ She smiled at the suave Chinese businessman standing behind her chair, a proprietary hand on her shoulder.
The arrow-thin businessman dressed in black Armani stared at the wannabe in the shiny suit insolently. ‘I know you. Don’t you work at Jimmy Chan’s?’
‘Yeah,’ replied Dedan.
‘Well, tell your boss I’ll be sending a new man round on Friday, and I’ll be raising the ante,’ said Joe.
‘Yeah, right,’ Dedan said, getting to his feet. ‘I better get going.’
Dedan didn’t like the familiar way the well-known racketeer’s hands were straying over Rubiah, but he wasn’t about to say anything; Joe Ling was known to be a dangerous enemy. There wasn’t a proprietor in the town that didn’t fear Joe Ling and his gang of thugs. A heavy turned up regularly every Friday at the drycleaners and Dedan saw his boss hand over big wads of money. Gambling was Dedan’s addiction and he wondered if the bagman had been tempted to help himself. After all, he could always put it back from his winnings. Dedan didn’t know how fortunate he was not to be put to the test. Joe always said ‘one look is worth a thousand words’ and he’d personally shown his new man what he’d done to his crooked predecessor before throwing the body over the side of his launch.
‘Well, see you around, Rubiah.’
‘Okay,’ she replied, avoiding his eye. She turned her head and whispered something in Joe’s ear.
‘Taxi fare,’ said Joe, scooping some notes up off the table and enjoying the young man’s discomfort. He hasn’t got the guts to refuse, he thought scornfully as Dedan fumbled for his wallet.
‘Thank you, Mr Ling, I won’t forget to give Mr Chan your message,’ Dedan said without meeting the gangster’s eyes.
‘Well, this is nice,’ Rubiah had said as the room-service waiter placed a steaming bowl of shark-fin soup before her.
‘This is a special occasion,’ said Joe, noisily slurping the expensive delicacy and smirking with satisfaction at how easy it had been to get her up to the suite that he permanently reserved for situations like this.
‘It’s delicious,’ she said after her first tentative taste. ‘I’ve never had it before.’
‘Stick with me, baby, and it’ll be first class all the way.’
Joe had kept his word. For an illiterate girl from a jungle longhouse, she’d done well. She owned the most successful beauty salon in town, lived in a fancy apartment and bought her clothes in Hong Kong, but she knew that the people who counted looked down on her; after all, she was just Joe Ling’s concubine. It was his wife – plain, meek Xiang – who lived in the mansion overlooking Luak Bay and was waited on by five maids, a cook, a chauffeur, two gardeners and three armed security guards.
None of this had mattered when she and Joe had first got together. Anyone could see Joe was passionately in love with her. Hadn’t he told her over and over that he’d have married her if he hadn’t already got a wife?
‘Xiang is my wife,’ he’d say, his eyes of flint softening, ‘but you are my woman. She has my name but you have my heart, babe.’
He always introduced her to his business associates as his emai, his second wife, and preferred to be seen with his beautiful native concubine rather than his old Chinese wife who spent her life in the mansion at Luak Bay bringing up their three children. Not that Joe regretted the arranged marriage to the old spinster daughter of the richest timber merchant in Sarawak. His father-in-law appointed him to the board of the Baram Hardwood Timber Company as soon as the marriage was announced.
‘Xiang will continue to put you first,’ Joe had promised her father, ‘even though we are married. Nothing will change. She will still be on hand to serve you as she did in childhood, all the days of your life.’
Overjoyed that his son-in-law respected traditional family life, the patriarch had an architect draw up plans for a complete new wing to the ma
nsion, solely for the use of the newly married couple.
Joe was brokenhearted when the old man died unexpectedly soon after the wedding. No one, not even his doctor, had realised he had such a bad heart. It had been the old man’s dearest wish to have a grandson, but he didn’t even live long enough to learn that his daughter had conceived.
Assuming chairmanship of the company immediately after his father-in-law’s lavish funeral, Joe put his plans for expansion into gear. Shortly after he took over his father-in – law’s business, a rival timber yard mysteriously caught fire; his father-in-law’s long-time friend had turned down Joe’s offer to buy him out. By the time the fire department arrived, the fire, fuelled by the stockpiled logs, had spread to three buildings, two stores and a cafe. Days later the firemen found the charred body of the owner among the rumble. His sick, elderly wife didn’t have the money to rebuild and she sold the property to Joe’s company for half the amount he had originally offered her.
One fire and the neighbouring mill owners were clammering to sell. Joe negotiated a series of successful takeovers that delighted board members. Even his brother-in-law who should have inherited, had to concede that his father’s cruel and inexplicable decision to leave the company to his new son-in-law had proved fortunate. As director of marketing, he was earning a six-figure salary, mainly for playing golf with business associates.
‘You have to hand it to Joe,’ he was heard to slur at the nineteenth hole, ‘he’s a real gun.’
But Rubiah didn’t feel so confident these days. Even though Joe had been generous to her – setting her up in business and paying the rent on her penthouse suite – she knew her position was tenuous. She used to feel superior to dull Xiang, who stayed at home while they regularly hit the hot spots – not only in Miri but in Singapore, the Genting Highlands and Hong Kong – but Rubiah was a realist and she understood that her rich lifestyle depended solely on her beauty and ability to charm her generous protector.
